


Prohibition Doesn't Count If You're Rich

by AmaryllisBlack



Category: Original Work
Genre: 1920s, Blackmail, F/M, Multi, Naked Female Clothed Male, Rape/Non-con Elements, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, costume porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-11
Updated: 2018-02-11
Packaged: 2019-03-17 00:16:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13647417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmaryllisBlack/pseuds/AmaryllisBlack
Summary: Prohibition doesn’t count, if you're rich. When Dotty's called on to visit the Sayers mansion naked, she finds out that a lot of other standards don’t, either.





	Prohibition Doesn't Count If You're Rich

**Author's Note:**

  * For [KeenWolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KeenWolf/gifts).



> Man, I always like situating my porn in historical situations, and then I get caught up in describing clothes in minute detail. :P I’d like to state for the record that Dotty is twenty, but still lives with her parents to save money and for propriety’s sake.

Dotty Baxter was cold. That’s what happened when you were standing outside in only your silk camiknickers on an October night.

She’d been prepared to spend the evening at home, alone – Mr. and Mrs. Baxter were visiting Great-Aunt Ruth for the week – when the telephone rang, shattering the calm. Of course she’d picked up the receiver: what if something was wrong with Aunt Ruth? But it was Mr. Sayers instead.

“Dotty.” His voice was cold, even through the crackle of the line. “Come to the house tonight. The front door will be unlocked. Wear some rouge – lips and cheeks. Take off your clothes at the gate and leave them there.” He hung up without mentioning the fact that if she failed to arrive, Saul and Leona Baxter would no longer be employed as his chauffeur and cook. She knew from what he’d said the last time, when he’d ordered her to bend over his desk and accept a spanking, and he didn’t like to repeat himself.

Normally, Dotty liked to walk at night, looking up at the stars and listening to the rushing of the leaves, but she found herself jumping at every shadow as she traveled the mile to the Sayers house. The moon was full, and the light almost as bright as day, which made everything worse: anyone who looked out their window would see her clearly, and probably tell anyone who would listen that Dotty Baxter was up to no good. The feeling of guilt and fear intensified once she entered the wide-open gates at the bottom of the drive, ducked behind one of the stone pillars, and started to divest herself of her clothing. The coat went first, then the skirt and overblouse. The hat went down on top of the pile. Shivering, she unclipped her stockings from her corselet and rolled them down to her ankles, then took them off along with her boots. The corselet itself went last, and she walked barefoot up to the house with only the aforesaid camiknickers protecting her bare skin.

The door was unlocked, as promised. Dotty expected the house to be silent, for him to be waiting for her in the study or maybe even his bedroom, but she could hear music and, worryingly, voices from the double parlor. What did he want her to do? Would she be punished if she waited there in the hall, or if she went looking for him? She took a few steps forward and then hung back.

Very soon, the question was answered for her. “The maid should be here by now,” she heard Mr. Sayers say, and then the parlor door opened. Having the tension broken made her somewhat relieved, but then the look on his face plunged her into doubt and fear again. “I told you to leave your clothes at the gate.” The door was still open, and she could see a man in the parlor, looking at her with a grin.

“I – I did, sir.”

“Then what is on your body right now.”

Dotty looked down at herself. He had really expected her to walk up the drive fully naked? Mr. Sayers continued to look at her disapprovingly (and the other man, with anticipation) until she reached trembling hands up to her shoulders and pulled the straps down. The garment fell in a puddle at her feet, and he reached out and pulled her forward, turning and pushing her past him into the room. Without thinking, she crouched and wrapped her arms around herself as she found herself the focus of three more men, in bright electric light and with an Edison cylinder of “Strut Miss Lizzie” on the gramophone.

Mr. Sayers entered behind her and slapped her smartly across the backside. “Stand up, slut.”  _ Or your parents will pay for it _ . Slowly, she dropped her arms and straightened her legs and back in front of her audience. “See to my guests’ drinks.”

It was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do in her life, but she forced herself to look at the nearest man, the one who’d seen her take off her underthings. Like Mr. Sayers, he was older than her but younger than her father, dressed in a smartly-pressed suit, and she felt a flush bloom over her cheeks and chest.

“Sir, may I … may I refresh your drink?”

“Whiskey, neat.” He handed her his glass, and they all watched her walk across the room with it, open the illicit glass decanter, and refill it. (Prohibition didn’t count, if you were rich. Clearly a lot of other standards didn’t, either.) When he took it back from her with a nod and a smile, she found herself unexpectedly relieved. It was horrifying, of course, being naked as a Greek statue in front of these men, but if that was the whole point of her being there – to act just like any other maid, but with no clothes on – she could stand it to keep her parents’ jobs. Dotty went to the next man, who was a bit older, with gray speckled through his hair.

“Sir?”

He handed her his wine glass, which had enough left to make it clear that he’d been drinking red. When she started to go, however, he reached out for her hip with his left hand to hold her in place, and slid two of his fingers between her thighs, provoking a gasp from her and laughter from the man that he’d been talking to.

“Wet as hell,” he said, and she flushed harder. It was true that this whole experience was … exciting her in ways that she had hoped they wouldn’t find out; it didn’t really surprise her, considering how she’d felt after the spanking, although she’d been trying to pretend none of it had any effect. “Your maid’s a little slut, Sayers.”

“Technically, she’s not my maid,” said Mr. Sayers. “She works at the dress shop downtown, Monday through Friday.” _ They can all find me now _ , she thought.  _ Any time they want, they know where I am _ .

“So this is moonlighting to make up the rent?” The man slowly, lazily, eased his fingers out of her and then back in, as he looked her up and down. “How much do you have to pay for this kind of service?”

“Oh, I don’t have to pay a thing. Isn’t that right, Dotty?”

“No, sir,” she whispered, and they all laughed that time. The man pulled his hand out and slapped her just as smartly as Mr. Sayers had, but right between the legs, twice.

“Naughty slut. Go get me some wine.”

Off she scurried to the decanters, as the men began to discuss animatedly what they might get to do to her for free. What on earth had she gotten herself into?


End file.
